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Classic Columns

You’re dumb! Buy me, idiot!

Xbox One: Hey asshole, buy me!

Paul: Excuse me?

Xbox One: I’m a video game console. I’m friggin’ great! Buy me, shitbag!

Paul: Why do you keep insulting me?

Xbox One: Because you’re my bitch, and you’re going to buy me no matter how badly I treat you. Aren’t you, bitch?

PS4: No, buy me instead! I’m a PS3!

Paul: Aren’t you the PS4? I thought Sony’s new console was the PS4.

PS4: Oops, sorry. I meant to say PS4. I get the two of us mixed up sometimes. We’re quite similar. We both have bloated, poorly designed software. We both have a slow network with lots of downtime for maintenance. We have the same long wait for add-on content while Microsoft’s exclusivity periods expire. But fortunately, those things aren’t important to you!

Forty chicken nuggets

McD’s Worker: Hello, and welcome to McDonald’s! Can I interest you in 40 chicken nuggets for $8.99?

Paul: Good lord, no. Why would I want that? I’m by myself.

McD’s Worker: Sorry, they’ll fire me if I don’t offer the poorest possible health choices to every customer.

Paul: I’ll just get a cheeseburger and small fries.

McD’s Worker: A double quarter pounder with cheese and super size fries?

Paul: No, just a regular cheeseburger and small fries.

McD’s Worker: We don’t have small anymore. Small is now “children’s size”.

Paul: I’m pretty sure the children’s size is the recommended amount for a grown adult. You know you’re not supposed to eat a pound of potatoes in one serving, right?

McD’s Worker: At least we still hide the ketchup from everyone. That’s unintentionally healthy.

Jesus Christ!

A bearded man sits at a table in a small room. The space is completely empty except for the table, a folding chair and a hamburger phone. The phone rings, and the man answers it.

“Hello, Jesus speaking. How may I help you? Yes, I remember your grandfather. Well, he died because he was old. Look kid, I didn’t “take” him from you, his organs just stopped working. Shit breaks. Get used to it. Grandpas don’t come with warranties. You ever buy a box of pens, and you take a fresh one out of the box and ink starts leaking all over the place? It’s kinda like that. Shit happens. Sorry.”

Jesus hangs up. The phone immediately rings again. Jesus answers.

“Hello, Jesus speaking. How may I help you? No, I’m not terribly concerned that the Jets haven’t won a Super Bowl in a while. I’ve got more important things to worry about. To be honest, I don’t even follow sports. No, it’s not that. I like sports. I used to follow them religiously when I was a kid, but now I’m older and I’ve got a full-time job with long hours, and I just don’t have time to keep up with the games and everything. You know how it goes. Who? Sorry, I don’t know who that is. I’m glad he’s a big fan of mine, but he’s probably the second string quarterback for a reason. Look man, I’ve got like a thousand little kids a day calling because they’ve got cancer. The Jets can handle their own shit. Maybe tell them to focus more on free agency.”

My boss wants my pee

My future employer wants an entire cup of my pee, and he wants it within 168 hours. He needs it. Fresh, untainted urine is necessary for our business relationship to begin. He wants to pay experts to study it, withdraw interesting things from it and test it for cleanliness and moral fiber. He wants to save it for posterity. A generous annual salary, health benefits and a retirement plan can all be mine. All he wants in return is a drinking glass filled with my pee.

Well, he also wants me to work a job for forty hours per week, but that’s a minute detail. The cherry on top of this hot fudge sundae is my urine.

I’ve never taken a drug test before. Sure, I’ve urinated into cups numerous times, but that was back in college. That was just for fun, purely recreational. This is a professional urination. This urination is all business, polished and mature. No laughing, no spraying half of it on the floor for fun, no shouting “Dude, I’m totally peeing in this cup!” as I totally pee into the cup. My tendency to urinate into things is finally reaching the big leagues.

Pat Sajak is dead. Rot in hell, Pat Sajak

A United States special forces team killed Pat Sajak today and recovered his body, bringing a close to the world’s highest-profile wheel-based game show. President Barack Obama announced the news to the world Sunday night.

“Justice has been done,” the president said solemnly. “Sajak was a terrorist responsible for the boredom of thousands of innocent men, women, and children. For nearly three decades, Sajak led nightly attacks against our country. Also, he was kind of a dick.”

Sajak, the leader of Al Qaeda and the most hunted man in the world, was not found in the remote tribal areas along the Pakistani-Afghan border where he has long presumed to be sheltered, but in a large “Wheel of Fortune” filming compound in Burbank, CA, about ten minutes north of that Ikea store that seems to only hire fat chicks.

The whereabouts of Sajak’s second-in-command, Alex Trebek, is unclear. Experts say Trebek may be sexing himself on the icy peaks of Canada’s highest mountain ranges. Canadian officials have politely agreed to bomb themselves until Trebek’s corpse is found.